And we shall stand eternal
by Incitata
Summary: “Palpatine is not Force sensitive,” the Jedi Acantha Sul announced, returning the device to the pouch on her belt, “His midichlorian count is as normal as that of any other youngling.”
1. Prologue

**And we shall stand eternal**

Prologue

Maris progressed down the hallway, the heavy swish of fabric punctuated by the sharp click of a cane striking marble; the pace of a woman twenty years her senior. Bearing the child had been a risk to her life yet she loved Nilias enough to sacrifice herself for his happiness, just as Nilias loved _her_ enough to let her.

_He is so quiet,_ she thought as she approached the cradle that stood beneath the open window. _Not like Chaliapin. He screamed every day of his life until he finally learned to speak, and once he could, he never seemed to stop talking._ Briefly she closed her eyes drawing the moist evening air deep into her lungs. She tasted the scent of grass mingled with the fragrant _mangrine _flowers that flourished in the courtyard below; it returned her to peace.

"Will they come, Nilias?" she asked shifting her weight against the edge of the cradle. Her husband trod softly as always, but she didn't need to hear him to be aware of his presence.

"We cannot prevent it. If Chaliapin hadn't been one of _them_ there would be no interest in us at all."

_If Chaliapin hadn't been one of them_, _we wouldn't have needed to have him_. But Maris left the bitter thought unvoiced, unwilling to begin the argument that would follow. She angled her head so that she could observe her husband's profile, but she saw not the greying hair and creased brow of the ageing bureaucrat. To her he was always the young man, confident and having ambition only to serve the government of the small planet of Naboo; the man destined to remove her from the employment of her own overly ambitious and acquisitive father. _What a relief it was to embrace domesticity_, she thought wryly, _Even if Nilias was more attracted by my father's bank balance than the prospect of marriage_.

"Is there nothing _you_ can do?" she questioned, "You must be aware of the right people to speak to."

"We do not live in a society where payment guarantees success," he said irritably, "That may have been the way things worked beyond the rim, but here we have rules, and here we follow those rules."

"For a republic that calls itself a democracy the Jedi have a disproportionate amount of influence," Maris said, skirting the only subject on which she was incendiary.

"And without that influence hoards of pirates, conmen and freeloaders from the edges of the galaxy would be upon us, your family first amongst them."

Maris' teeth clamped on the soft interior of her cheek. "It didn't bother you when we wed," she said her tone betraying little of the annoyance his words caused.

"It doesn't bother me now, Maris," he replied as if he were addressing a simpleton, "I just think that after all these years you should begin to understand that things are different here. Fast talking. Bribery. They are not part of the status quo. We have order here."

"If I could see the cracks in that order less clearly perhaps I would be less critical of it," Maris responded tightly. He could call her family all the names he liked but her father's enterprise had been an unbounded success specifically because of the strict order he imposed on his employees. "Naboo's democracy is a second rate order within a weak republic, Nilias. Where is the stability in a coalition that daily expands its borders yet trusts the keeping of law to a group of quasi religious fanatics who seek to protect their own integrity above all else? Chaliapin is proof! See the truth in that if you cannot see it any other way."

And finally the reason for his tension was exposed. Maris had been too absorbed in her own worries to see it, too quick to lose her temper.

"I don't even want them near him," Nilias said weakly, his brow creasing as he exhaled "I don't want to risk him going to that place."

"It wasn't like that with Chaliapin." Maris laid her hand on his arm, the fabric ruched beneath her fingertips, "You were so proud, Nilias." _And, _she added to herself, _later, so sorrowful_.

"I have changed since then," he said, "How could I not? I regret the choices I made. Nothing would induce me to repeat them."

"This is not your choice to make," she continued taking his hands in hers, "How do you know that you will not feel the same pride if _he_ is sensitive to the Force?"

"How can you ask that?" he snapped pulling away, "the Jedi order stood back and watched my son die. They killed him, Maris! If not for them he would be alive today."

_And how it broke you, _she thought with regret, steadying herself with her cane. "Nilias, we do not know yet even if he is Force sensitive. There is a chance that he is not. If you invite them here it will happen on your terms but if you wait they will come anyway and the pain will be greater."

"In that, you are right."

"Acantha Sul," the human servant announced before stepping out of sight to allow the Jedi to enter the room.

Maris' hands tightened around the arms of her chair as she glanced between the cradle and her husband watching as Nilias gave a curt nod of his head by way of greeting. Finally, her gaze settled on the Jedi; a human woman, compact and coiled. A loaded spring.

"Thank you for journeying to see us, Master Sul" Nilias said coolly, ignoring the restless cry that erupted from the cradle. "My wife, as you can see does not enjoy good health. She was unable to make the trip to Coruscant and she would not hear of having you see the boy outside her presence."

"Thank you for receiving me in your home, Madam," Acantha Sul said, lowering her gaze to regard Maris' seated form. Maris did not trust herself to speak, her fingers straining against hard carved wood. Instead she looked through her visitor to Nilias. Unperturbed, Acantha Sul continued, "When we identify one who is Force sensitive we take him with us for training in the temple on Coruscant. Often a child will be a year or two old before he starts to exhibit signs, but with a quick test we will have a reliable indication of whether or not he has the connection. It will be several years before we begin to understand just what poten …"

"Master Sul," Nilias interrupted stepping toward the Jedi, "We heard this speech before when our first son Chaliapin was admitted to your temple. Please do not insult us by explaining again." Now Acantha did show surprise, elicited, Maris assumed by her husband's bluntness rather than a lack of knowledge of their circumstances. "I have sought no contact with any member of your order since the enquiry into his death." Nilias continued, "and it is with deepest reserve that I invite you here today. I believe though, that if he is sensitive to your Force then your order remains the best place for him."

Acantha Sul pursed her lips, then nodded, "It was an unfortunate incident, Sir," she said, "one greatly regretted by the Jedi order."

"Almost as unfortunate as the result of your investigation was convenient, for your order that is. Chaliapin was three years old when you took him from us and thirteen when you released his body. You aimed to sever him from us, we accepted that necessity, but whilst he was alive the distance you created was nothing. I could imagine him growing, becoming everything he was meant to become. You took that from me."

"Chaliapin was chosen to be my Padawan learner," Acantha told him. Fleetingly, Maris had the impression that the Jedi retreated deep into the folds of her robes as if fleeing her loss, then just as quickly, she returned composed. "When the council received your communication, I asked especially that I be the one to come. The Masters are encouraged that your invitation is a sign of forgiveness."

"Nothing you can say to me will absolve your order of blame for his death." Nilias said, implacable. "You have taken one son from me and destroyed him and now you come to take my second," beneath his concealing sleeves Maris knew that his fingernails drove hard into the soft flesh of his palms.

Perhaps aware that words would make no difference Acantha Sul moved directly to the purpose of her visit, "May I see him now?" she asked.

As he turned his back on the Jedi and moved towards her, Maris saw how faded Nilias looked but she knew that by the time he turned again he would look strong. She felt the vibration as he placed his hands on the high back of her chair but she did not turn to look at him, that was not what he needed from her now. As Maris straightened, gathering her resolve, the wooden chair creaked beneath her. Calm and with a focus she had not experienced since her youth, Maris swept her arm in an arc toward the cradle beneath the window.

"Nilias Palpatine," she said, and as Acantha Sul moved toward the cradle she added, "Named for my husband and for my own father."

The restless child calmed as the Jedi lifted him from between the crisp sheets. Maris tried to imagine what she was looking for as she stared into the pale blue eyes that were still barely able to focus on what was put before them. Placing him back the Jedi took something from a pouch at her belt.

Her view obscured by the Jedi's back, Maris could not see what was being done. Then as the boy gave a single shriek she felt her chair shift as Nilias jerked forward in response, ready to rescue his son.

"Stop," she hissed, hand darting out with unaccustomed speed to stop him interfering. She looked up at him, measuring his surprise against her own, "Stand calm," she pleaded.

They remained that way, eye to eye, hand to hand, frozen, until the Jedi turned back to them, "Nilias Palpatine is not Force sensitive," Acantha Sul announced, stowing her device, "His midichlorian count is as normal as that of any other youngling."

**Authors Note:**

This fic is based around my personal speculations about Palpatine's origins and how he came to the Force and to the Senate. At the moment I have no beta so there are probably a few grammatical errors that I missed – apologies.

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

**Alphabetised Points of Waffle:**

_Extended Universe_: I am not familiar with the EU after ROTS. Aside from the OT and PT my sources are novels, the Star Wars Role Playing Game, and the databank at I hope not to contradict the EU but ask your forgiveness for any minor infractions (and expect your thwapping for any major/avoidable breach)..

_Mangrine flowers_: are a fiction. I searched for some source relating to the flora of Naboo but found nothing. I wanted something a little more unique than some type of rose or of lilac, something unique to Naboo.

_Maris and Nilias_: The names are a nod to _Frasier _another favourite show of mine.

_Palpatine_: I have spent a lot of time trying to decide whether or not Palpatine is a surname or a given name. The usage Senator Palpatine/Supreme Chancellor Palpatine suggest that it is a surname. Emperor Palpatine, however suggests it is a given name. I lean towards the former though for the purposes of this fic it is a given name.

**Disclaimer:**

Is there a standard accepted form of disclaimer in the Star Wars fandom as there is in the Harry Potter and the Star Trek fandoms?


	2. Chapter 1

**And we shall stand eternal**

-1-

_If you would understand the mysteries of the Force, focus not on the end. Examine instead the insignificant change; the word, the shadow, the dance of a breeze. The man who can read the path in these signs has already touched the future. He will shape the end. _

_On this night one such change is in motion; the shift so small that even a master of the art might be forgiven for missing it. _

_But forgiveness is not part of the nature of change._

_Change is relentless._

_Change will be. _

_Instruction on the Nature of the Force_

-----------

The view from the mid level apartment on the very edge of the entertainment district of Galactic City was not special; lurid streams of traffic slicing the night, stained by the rising glow of the hoardings advertising products and services to all and sundry.

_Especially to sundry,_ Palpatine reflected. He turned from the window just as the door slid open, "What did you find, Yorath?" he asked.

"Not much," the other replied.

Palpatine sat as Yorath helped himself to a drink. Only when he was settled deep in the opposite chair did Yorath continue. "I accessed the terminal that they have near their compound, the one with all the public relations information – it was tricky to get through to the secured stuff, but I did manage it." He lifted a thick-fingered hand to his brow and winced. "Problem is, I triggered something. About a minute after I reached the first file I was marched away from the terminal and given a very strong hint that I shouldn't come back."

"I wondered about that." Palpatine said, eyeing the bruise that narrowed one eye to a mottled parody of a wink. "I didn't think Jedi got into fist fights."

"It was a lackey. If it had been one of _them_ I'd still be answering their questions."

"True." Palpatine sighed. He leaned back, gaze tracing the path of a tension crack that split the permacrete ceiling. "We're left where we started."

"Not entirely," Yorath said, "Before _they_ saw me off, _I_ saw a name!"

Palpatine straightened and found himself staring into a grinning face, "Do you want to share it with me?"

"Te Ne'bris. A Bothan. The file noted him as a witness on the original case. It seems that he works as a lobbyist. On top of that, I've found that this Te Ne'bris is currently compiling a report into the financial affairs of one Torias Mindel. He's on a retainer from a dodgy offshoot of a pressure group working to discredit Mindel's bill."

"The Earnings Declaration Annex, that's due to go to the vote in less than two weeks. He actually thinks that smearing the Senate's most reputable member is going to work?"

"Seems someone let him down and he stands to have to pay back quite a sum of credits if he doesn't dig up some dirt."

"I assume he's already spent the credits."

Yorath nodded in response.

"This is why I don't charge you rent," Palpatine said with a chuckle.

"Rent?" Yorath protested, "I'm not here that often."

"Often enough for you to have a passcode. You never set down a landing strut without installing yourself here for a few days. What is it going to look like when I'm ambassador and a scruffy merchant keeps knocking on my door?"

"You still have a force-pike up your behind, don't you?" the same accusation that Yorath had made the very first time they met, only then it had been delivered with all the loathing the ten year old foundling could muster.

"You never could take a joke," Palpatine replied recalling the scuffle that had followed when he had risen to that provocation; the memory of his defeat still chafed. "So this Bothan's desperate?" he continued, returning the conversation to its purpose.

Yorath nodded, "I think that's why he agreed to see us. I spent the afternoon chasing him up. He's certainly not living the low life. I hinted I had a contact on the inside who might be able to help him out."

"Me?" Palpatine smiled thinly, "I don't know about the inside, but the odd bit of legislation crosses my desk. Yorath," he asked, sensing that his friend was not telling him the full story, "what did you tell him?"

"Rising star, high ambitions, ear of the Senator," Yorath shrugged, "The usual stuff. Had to make it sound tempting."

"He'll see right through us! I draft speeches, Yorath. I read bills and make suggestions. That's not having the ear of …"

"And what do you base the speeches and suggestions on? A copy of just about everything goes through that office of yours – you four, if you wanted, could bring down the government. Anyway, it's true enough for him. Grab your jet pack," Yorath added, "We need to be at Pinnacle in twenty minutes."

-------

Acantha Sul searched. A thousand ordinary minds eddied through the Plaza, wave upon wave of muted tones that peaked and troughed the surface of the Force. Just for a moment she caught a glimpse, an extraordinary awareness, luminous against the wave of monotony, and then it vanished 

_Just a momentary breach, _she thought, letting the flow recede. "Did you see it?" she asked the Padawan who stood to her left.

He blinked the last remnants of the Force out of his awareness than admitted, "I saw nothing, Master Sul."

"He was very subtle," she said turning to face the Padawan. "Barely a touch, but he was there. If someone does not want to be found, and if they know how, they can keep it from you."

"If we cannot use the Force to search and we cannot use our eyes, what chance do we have of this mission being a success?"

"Where am I, Oon Fak?" Sul asked.

"Standing in front of me," he replied.

"What am I doing?"

"Talking to me."

"And what does the Force show you?"

She saw the Zabrak bright in the Force, tendrils reaching out around him. "I see nothing, Master Sul," he said, surprise evident in his tone, "Not even you."

"Reach out, Oon. Expand your field to enclose me, do you sense anything unusual?"

"I see only blankness, like the night."

"Reach out further, into the crowd. Touch an ordinary mind."

"It is blurred, thoughts, desires, conflicts."

"Now compare that with what surrounds me."

"You're featureless, a void."

"That is the most basic way I can hide my Force presence. Even an absence tells a story; something that should be there but is not is as telling as an unexpected presence. Look again and tell me what you see."

She wrapped herself in the semblance of an ordinary mind, "I see the mind I saw before,"

he said.

"This is hard to maintain for any period of time but not impossible. These techniques are very basic, not so much hiding in the Force but hiding from it, or at least from anyone more than normally sensitive to it. As we progress I'll show you more sophisticated techniques. With them you can become the Force, for a time at least, and only a master would be able to find you. Look one last time, Oon."

He closed his eyes and said, "I see your normal Force presence, Master Sul." As he spoke she reached out then quickly snatched her hand back into her robes, "Are you trying to hide?"  
"No, Oon. Open your eyes." She extended her hand palm up and she saw his expression crumple as he recognised his own lightsaber.

"How did I not sense you?" he asked reaching for it.

"You blinded yourself, Oon. I surprised you, after all my tricks with my own presence. You were distracted. All I had to do was reach out with my hand. Don't rely so heavily on the Force that you neglect the evidence of your other senses."

"I begin to see the danger," Oon said clipping his lightsaber to his belt. Acantha fancied his tone was a little sulky, "from Force wielding would be pickpockets."

She raised an eyebrow, "I didn't quite hear that, Oon," she said.

"I meant to ask, why would anyone need to hide?" he said, taking the invitation to retract his jibe.

"A good question. Why should a Jedi have need to hide? A Jedi does not have that need, but if he ever wants to find someone who does, then he must know what he is looking for. Not all Force users are Jedi and some feel that they have need or reason for disguise. The Jedi Council find it prudent to keep an eye on those who are not Jedi. Some have grown up within our own Republic those with weak abilities, sometimes criminals, sometimes not – everyday citizens who rarely realise what causes their uncanny good fortune. There are others who come to us late, too late to train, often from the fringes of the Republic and then there are those trained in other traditions, mystics generally. They are by far the most dangerous and from time to time they stray into our protectorate."

"And they're not all open about who they are?"

"Have you heard of the witches of Dathomir, Oon? They are Dark Side users, they do not exactly advertise their presence to the Jedi; the Mendoxx Brotherhood are another group whose members you would not want to meet on a dark night and, well there are also much worse possibilities."

"How bad can it get?"

"How much history have you studied, Oon?"

"Enough," he replied wryly, "Not my favourite subject."

"Knowledge," Acantha said, "is every bit as important as saber practice."

"Yes, Master Sul," he agreed, and perhaps seeking a way to divert the lecture that was looming he asked, "Is this _preacher _using the Force?"

Acantha considered the question, "We do not yet know. The _preacher_ as you dub him, appeared just over a month ago. He spoke at a complex very much like this one – he spoke of an empire, the destruction of the Republic and of new peace. A few days later he chose another venue and gave a similar speech. Every few days, another commercial complex and another appearance."

"Coruscant is a very attractive destination for the deranged and the dispossessed," Fak remarked. "If we have to track every one of them we could be at it for some time."

"Based on evidence from the first sightings of our preacher, there is no record of his arrival on Coruscant – not on any transport, anyway. Nor is there record of his previously being resident. We want to know who he is, what he is saying and to whom he is saying it, and whether or not his audience is actually listening."

"You think he may be some form of prophet?" Oon Fak asked, sceptical.

"I don't think anything of the kind," she replied, "I'm simply here at the direction of the Jedi Council. We will find the preacher and make our report then _they_ will decide if the words are more than ravings. And by the way, Oon, _Jedi_ don't smirk!"

-----------

Having been born and raised in the glittering heart of the Galactic Republic, by the time the Coruscanti of a certain social standing comes of age he has been exposed to such a stream of commercialism, spin and sensation, that his attention span is comparable in duration to the life expectancy of an unarmed Ewok facing a Rancor. As any auditor droid could calculate, this is rather less than a standard minute. These bright young beings seek out the latest thrill, moving on swiftly as boredom settles in and their less privileged contemporaries catch on to the trend. It was a matter of note therefore that _Pinnacle_ was and had been _the_ place to be seen for three standard months. It may have been the arbitrary membership policy, it may have been the choice location at the apex of Corybance Heights or even just the unique fusion cuisine. Whatever it was _Pinnacle_ was not the sort of place Palpatine would normally have visited.

"I know you said this Bothan wasn't exactly slumming it, but this is a bit beyond what I was expecting," he said as the air taxi deposited them on the edge of a crowded landing platform.

"I thought the same," Yorath laughed, "It's the place. Wait here. I'll check if we can get in before we make ourselves look like idiots in front of this mob."

Palpatine waited, a dull figure against the splendour of the Coruscant night eyeing with distaste the fashionable beings that buzzed around, iridescent, like flies attracted by some exotic scent.

A hand on his shoulder. Palpatine turned. "Name's on the door," Yorath said with his wonky grin, "Follow me."

They went straight to the front of the queue, Yorath happy to push past anyone who seemed reluctant to let them through. Palpatine had the distinct impression that Yorath was enjoying it though he himself didn't much care for the sneers and whispers they attracted as they passed by.

"Do you ever plan to grow up?" he asked as the po-faced human doorman led them inside.

"No need, I'm not the one who wants to be an ambassador – I leave that all to you."

"I think our friend is trying to make an impression on us," Palpatine remarked taking in the gleaming entrance, a vast transparisteel atrium at the very top of the building with no evidence of support or join, "I think that he wants us to think that he belongs here."

Toward the centre of the room the floor dipped into a spiral ramp that took them down to a lower level. The room which they entered was dark and curved around the edge of the building, the most prominent aspect, Palpatine noted was the floor. It was transparent except for three bands of black that followed the curve of the building taking full advantage of the precipitous nature of the city. Long term residents might be inured against the height, but Palpatine deliberately walked on one of the solid bands as they rounded the building. They passed several doors through which faint sounds of music or of laughter could be heard then eventually they were shown into a small but definitely solid dining room where the only occupant sat sampling a delicacy that writhed on a flat dish before him.

"He's not nearly as relaxed as he appears," Palpatine muttered as one creature dissapeared down the throat of the other. It was clear to him why Te Ne'bris had chosen this place to meet. He wanted to establish his authority, to impress upon them the disparity in their relationship. He knew the type, and he knew that they usually won at least against people without his own particular advantages.

"You lead," he told Yorath then allowed himself a deep breath. He didn't know if he could manage it. This was not a schoolyard squabble or an office conflict easily won with a little subtle influence. This was real, the target unknown and he remembered a hard learned warning about the dangers of experimentation.

"I'm Yorath Marr," he heard his friend saying, "we met briefly this afternoon."

"Sit, sit," Te Ne'bris seemed amiable enough, "Spring wine," he ordered waving the hovering waiter away. "And who is your friend?"

"My friend. That's enough for you to know."

"Friends have names," the Bothan said.

"Not this one." Yorath's approach was certainly direct, but then Palpatine rationalised, perhaps that was how one conducted business beyond the Outer Rim.

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

_He doesn't waste time_, Palpatine had to appreciate that, but he sensed that this Bothan trusted no-one, not even himself. _Why?_

"It's about a Jedi. A Padawan named Chaliapin," Yorath said.

"I don't know any Jedi," Te Ne'bris leaned back, stroking the tip of his beard with the fingers of one hand.

"Maybe you've forgotten," Yorath continued, "it would be, fifteen, sixteen years ago. He wasn't much more than a boy. He met a mysterious end. Sound familiar?"

"No. Not in the slightest."

"It's not a name one would forget," Palpatine remarked.

"But I haven't heard it before."

"Odd then that I saw your name on a report about this Jedi," Yorath interrupted.

"Very odd," the Bothan agreed. The waiter returned, burdened by a laden tray. His fluttering wings seemed to be working double speed to keep their owner aloft and their rapid flup, flup, flup was the only sound in the room apart from the clink of crystal followed by the low gurgle of golden liquid being poured. Palpatine used this interruption to push into the Force and he was surprised at what he learned – Te Ne'bris clearly remembered the event and had an equally clear belief that it had never happened. _How could that be? _

"The Jedi look after their own," Te Ne'bris said as the door slid closed behind the waiter, "they don't need outside help."

"You were the one who found him. Weren't you?" Palpatine asked sipping the sweet wine.

The Bothan took a very slow, very deep breath, "What's your interest?" he asked just as Palpatine felt the first thread of resistance snap with a tiny shift in the Force.

He put his glass down.

"Chaliapin was my brother," Palpatine replied, "I made a promise to our mother that I would find out the truth about his death. You will tell me the truth."

"Truth is an expensive commodity in this city."

"I'm willing to pay," Palpatine grasped the bridge of his nose for a second.  
Te Ne'bris peered at him "I doubt you're that wealthy."

"I'm not offering credit. I'm offering information."

"What can _you_ offer me?"

"I haven't come here to waste your time, Te Ne'bris. I've done my research. Is it not true that you are involved in a probe into the financial affairs of Torias Mindel?"

"Never heard of him."

"Really? I was under the impression that you were some form of journalist," again Palpatine felt a lurch as the Bothan's resolve weakened, "Even the most lowly gossip peddler is aware that Torias Mindel is one of the most outspoken supporters of the Earnings Declaration Annex that is currently causing so much of a stir in certain circles. Is it my imagination or has that not been the most prominent news story in recent weeks?"

"_That_ Torias Mindel!"

"Good. Now we're getting somewhere," he exhaled, "What do you want to know about Mindel?"

The fur on the Bothan's neck, what was visible above his brocade collar, lifted in a ripple of anticipation. "What do you have?" he asked keenly.

"I'm not going to come out and tell you just like that. Knowledge for knowledge, secret for secret. First you will tell me about the Jedi."

"I need more than that; I need proof that you know something," the Bothan was being very difficult. Palpatine admitted to himself that he would not normally have tried to manipulate him in this way, he had neither a simple nor a weak mind. But necessity had placed this challenge and if he were to get any closer to solving the riddle of his brother's death then Palpatine had to accept and to win that challenge.

"Tell us about the Jedi!" Yorath demanded filling the silence. "_Then_ he will tell you about Torias Mindel."

"There's not much to tell. They're not immortal," Te Ne'bris said as Palpatine saw his mind glow with the thought of what he could gain with the right information. He added the afterthought, "Sometimes Jedi die."

_So do lobbyists_, Palpatine thought with increasing irritation. "Why don't you start by telling us where?" he suggested.

"Where?" Te Ne'bris tested the word, and finally Palpatine sensed his reluctance to speak was beginning to splinter. He pulled out of the Force, confident that momentum would carry the Bothan the rest of the way. "In _the Gorge_, that passage between the Aurora Plaza and the Lumerian Way that everyone uses as a short cut."

"I know it. Perhaps a bit more detail …" he suggested, the Gorge as it was colloquially known had both a vertical and horizontal stretch of over three standard kilometers and so a bit of precision would not hurt.

Te Ne'bris gave a thoughtful grunt, "There's a small club – it's about half way up the edifice, right at the top of the lower level. I was leaving this club one night and I'd gone on to the walkway that leads to the other side. The clientele prefer not to arrive directly at the door you see, city full of gossips. They like to keep the pretence that they are there for innocent reasons."

"I don't really care what you buy with your credits," Palpatine said, his dislike of the Bothan increasing with every word he spoke, "If you could get to the point."

"The point, yes. It was early, I'd only been there to interview Orm – never mind who. I reached the walkway and it was deserted, then I noticed something hanging over the railing – I thought a cloak, or something of value that I might return to its owner, so I had a look."

"What a paragon of virtue you are," Palpatine muttered.

"I had a look and saw it was a person, a human bent back over the railing, he was dressed like a Jedi maybe twelve, thirteen, possibly a little older I'm not that sure with human age. Anyway I pulled him off the railing, I couldn't really leave him like that and it doesn't hurt to make the right friends. He was like a bag of blood – I don't think there was a bone in his body that was whole – he collapsed right there and then, flopped down onto the walkway. That's when he dropped his light sword. I picked that up and hid it and as I did I clicked on a little recorder I always have with me. I don't know how, but he was still alive. Do you know what he said?" Te Ne'bris paused.

_If I knew what he said do you think I'd be talking to you_, Palpatine thought.

"They tried to take me – something like that. There was a lot of noise from passing traffic so it was hard to tell. That's when he died. I think he must have activated a beacon or something," Te Ne'bris continued, "there I was on my knees with a body when the Jedi turned up – three of them. I thought I was a goner. That's the truth."

"I believe you," Palpatine said, "but if, as you say the Jedi came and you were still there, how come you have any memory of this? Surely they would have taken steps to make sure that the knowledge of their loss was protected."

The Bothan laughed, "Mind tricks! Anyone can learn to stop a mind trick, very useful in my line of work. They tried their finger waving and I played along. Answered their questions like a man in a trance, gave the responses they expected then they sent me packing with an order to forget everything I'd seen."

And that made it clear what had happened – their block had been partially effective; it had prevented the Bothan from using his information even though his memory of events remained conscious. That was the restraint that had caused Palpatine so much trouble.

"You didn't use the information, is that not odd?"

"It never occurred to me."

"Do you still have them, the light sword and the recording?" Palpatine asked casually.

"It's my only proof it ever took place."

"I am willing to trade proof against Torias Mindel for those items – they will be a great comfort to my family. And you can finally make some profit on the knowledge you have held through these years."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I am a bureaucrat, Te Ne'bris. I know certain parties who have as much of a vested interest in defeating this bill as you have – parties who cannot afford to make their opposition publicly known. Bring me the light sword and the datachip and I will give you the evidence you need."

"The light sword and the datachip, yes."

"Good."

"Who are you?" the Bothan asked suddenly.

"My name is Hartal Inlia," Palpatine said ignoring the look that Yorath gave him

"You're younger than I expected."

_Not surprising as he is the head of Alderaan's research office_, Palpatine thought, but he simply replied, "Appearances can be deceptive."

"If you will excuse us, Te Ne'bris, I will fetch my part of our bargain. Yorath here will contact you with a rendezvous point."

Before the man could object Palpatine got up and followed by Yorath left the room.

"Why did you say your name was Hartal Inlia?" Yorath asked as soon as they reached the open air.

"A whim," Palpatine replied, "I didn't like the way he looked at us, it will give him something to …" he turned suddenly to his right and stumbled, reeling as though an explosion had rocked the platform. Through a haze he saw the outline of a female Twi'lek, people laughing, the blurring crowd. Then he felt hands tighten on his arms.

"Are you alright?" Yorath asked, "Palpatine?"

Palpatine nodded, fighting a wave of nausea. Someone had delivered him something rather stronger than the Force equivalent of a tweaked nose. Someone who wanted to let _him_ know that _they_ knew what he could do.

"Palpatine?" Yorath repeated.

"It's nothing," he said, allowing Yorath to lead him aside, too disorientated to try and locate his attacker.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, sorry. Just the change of air," he forced a smile, "Wait and follow Te Ne'bris, I'll contact you with a meeting place."

"Palpatine?"

"I'll be at the embassy," he said, finally and turned away.

----------

"Master Sul, I would speak with you."

Slowly, Acantha Sul let go of the threads she had woven into the Force. She watched as they washed away, dissolving the pathways she had made through the events of the past weeks to earlier that day in the plaza. She rose and smiled at Oon Fak. "Tell me your solution. Perhaps it will be better than mine, come."

Gravel crunching beneath their booted feet, they walked toward the pond that lay among the rocks fed by a gurgling stream. Here the air was moist and Acantha could imagine that she was outdoors and not in an artificial garden shielded from the scouring Coruscant air. Sitting, she trailed her hand in the cool water as she waited for Oon to join her.

"He's playing with us," Oon said enthusiastically, "hide and seek. We need to reach out and find him through the Force."

"Oon, do you not think that perhaps I've already tried that."

"But what have you been looking for? Think, Master Sul. The first time the preacher appeared everyone saw him, it was the height of day – every head, tentacle and muzzle in that square turned to see what the commotion was about – the Coruscanti are a nosy bunch –it's impossible to look in a window without someone else thinking there must be something worth seeing."

"What has this to do with our preacher?"

"For the last eight or nine times we've been chasing a shadow – we've heard the voice but have you seen a single head turn to see who is speaking? Have you heard the HoloNet broadcasts asking for an enquiry into the disturbances of the peace, or of members of the Senate calling for an end to people being free to make politically incendiary speeches on the streets? I haven't – do you really think _they_ would let an opportunity like this pass? Any of a number of factions could be making ground with it but still we hear nothing."

"Even today, Oon? We heard him."

"We heard a shadow. This is hide and seek in the Force, just like the younglings play – we can hear him in the Force, the others, all those thousands of people cannot hear a thing because there is nothing meant for them to hear."

_He's right_, she thought, _not one passer by has mentioned a thing, not a shaken head, no snorts of derisive laughter. Only the quiet response of the Jedi Council._

"Well done, Oon. I've had us looking for something that isn't there," she said. His was the answer that had been eluding her for weeks. "It proves now that our preacher is a Force user."

"That's good isn't it?"

"Not necessarily, but it gives us a clear way to go. We shouldn't be too quick to assume; just because he has said a few disparaging things about the Republic doesn't mean he is an enemy though we should not be so complacent that we put ourselves at risk. If we are allowed to be our only judge surely we will always be judged to have no shortcomings. We must look outside ourselves to find and to understand the truth - that applies to the council as well as to individual Jedi, Oon."

He looked puzzled as if admonished for a transgression he hadn't committed.

"I didn't mean that as a reprimand, not for you anyway, Oon, but for this foolish Jedi who not for the first time has put too much faith in her own judgement."

-------

"Good evening, sir" the security droid chirped from behind the desk which during the day was typically occupied by a pretty thing from a good Naboo family which happened to be based on Coruscant.

Palpatine knew to which he would rather be talking as he went through the identification process, "Has Omnian Clish left for the day?" he asked.

"Three hours ago, sir."

"Never mind," and then with a shrug, as though he didn't want to have entirely wasted his journey he turned away, "I'll be in the pit," he said, not caring whether or not the droid heard.

The pit, as the small windowless office at the Naboo embassy was known, or as Yorath had put it, _that office of yours, _had a certain reputation. Every establishment, in education, in business, in politics has such a room where sharp minds endure deplorable conditions of pressure and environment because they know it is the way to the top. The pit housed the protégés of Omnian Clish, fished out of the grey tide of button pushers that the homeworld foisted on the embassy each year on the mistaken assumption that large numbers helped the establishment function. They did the bulk of the work in the Department of Policy Research and enjoyed certain privileges not normally extended to such _officially_ junior functionaries. These four were an elite. Hungry, keen minds, none too troubled by conscience, who all wanted to advance – the pit had it's own rules and as he sat at his desk Palpatine scrupled on the idea of extending those rules to the rest of the world.

Based upon the rules of this room he weighed a reputation against a promise, a truth against a lie, a past against a future. And with comforting sophistry, he began to see how it might work

There was only one course of action he could take.

**Authors Note:**

This story is pure speculation about Palpatine's early career, and only one of many possible routes to the Dark Side. – I will take no liberties with canon but where it does not yet exist I hope to have fun nudging the boundaries of the Star Wars galaxy.

Many thanks to **UninvitedCat** who kindly beta read this chapter for me, and who I hope will stick around to beta the rest.

Feedback, positive or negative, is encouraged and appreciated.


	3. Chapter 2

**And we shall stand eternal**

-2-

"But Master Sul," Fak protested as the airspeeder bobbed to a halt alongside the landing platform, "Master Bonilan would object – I'm not ready to be out alone."

"Master Bonilan might be afraid that I am going to lose his Padawan," she said, turning to regard the Zabrak apprentice with an expression that he found unreadable. He might have been mistaken, but her assertion seemed to carry more meaning than the words implied. He opened his mouth the protest further but Master Sul continued. "Trust in your abilities, Oon. Return to the Tourmalent Arcade and try to apply what I have been teaching you these last weeks. I don't expect you to find anything but it is not beyond hope that there may be some trace. Even if there is nothing, the exercise will be a useful one."

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Oon, I have analysed the pattern of these appearances and they seem to emanate from a central point somewhere in the Hariolus Freight Dock. We cannot push forward our search until we have completely covered the last sighting, but we cannot delay moving on. Now that a pattern has emerged, there is a very strong chance that he might change his strategy or disappear entirely. We have no option but to divide our efforts. That is why I want you to complete our search, Oon. If you should find anything, contact me and if not, then join me here once you are finished."

"Yes, Master Sul," he said, resigned to his task. He watched as the Jedi hopped out onto the landing platform. Then he twisted the throttle and pulled away.

His feeling of unease did not lessen as Oon stood at the spot where their search had ended late the previous night. Then it had been a vast and empty silver walled cave, but now the shutters were all raised and the walkways filled with a swarm of beings who seemed, as far as Oon could tell, to have no greater purpose than to part with as many credits as possible in the shortest conceivable period of time.

_This is a futile exercise_, he thought, pacing through the crowds. _If I must do this then I might as well have something nice to look at_, he reasoned selecting a target, not at random as instructed, but because it belonged to a slim tangerine complexioned Twi'lek. Her presence in the Force was minimal, a ripple of orange almost the same shade as her skin. He waited for her to move on and concentrated on fixing the imprint of that ripple on his mind. As he walked, he played, letting her move further and further away before he caught up. Once he even arrived there ahead of her so that she passed him by.

As he watched her lekku curl back over her shoulders it occurred to Oon that this entire exercise was of questionable morality.

_Not all Force users are Jedi_, Sul had said.

And not all would be bothered by this, he added, understanding one of the lessons that Sul had been trying to teach him.

_Assume that your target can see you in the Force,_ had been the second instruction.

Even though he thought this to be a particular waste of time, he did as Master Sul had suggested. Perhaps her story about extending the search was untrue, perhaps she was there in the crowd, monitoring him – as soon as that thought occurred he doubled his effort to hide, if she was out there, he wanted her to know that he was taking his responsibility and his lessons seriously.

As the grey clad Twi'lek meandered toward the parking area Oon let go of his trace and returned himself fully to the real world.

He found that his palms rested on the polished surface of a shop counter.

_So that is that_, he thought. _She wasn't watching_. The Twi'lek had no idea that she had been followed and he had wasted a lot of effort hiding for no reason. A store clerk turned toward him with a smile that withered as she saw that he was connected to the Jedi and thus unlikely to join in the spree. She raised a brow to question his continued presence. Oon ignored the question.

He reviewed his morning's work: he had revisited the location of their previous search; identified where he thought the preacher had stood; successfully tracked a stranger; hidden in the Force and developed a sore which he thought might turn into a blister on the heel of his right foot.

_A very productive morning_, he mused as the clerk resorted to aggressively folding fabric right in front of him. With a sigh he moved on

_If I was with Master Bonilan or even with Master Sul, I could suggest that it was time we left._ He grumbled to himself, craving the camaraderie that came with being on a mission with other Jedi. Wryly, he began to see just how subtle Master Sul was being. It occurred to him for the first time that unlike boots, Jedi didn't always come in pairs. And that like boots, some Jedi would expose your weaknesses whereas others would not.

_You're drifting_, he warned himself. _Focus on what you are supposed to be doing_.

As Oon pulled out his commlink to make contact with Sul, an audible rumble came from his stomach. As there was no-one around to suggest to him that he ought to control his hunger and his weariness, Oon decided to take advantage of the fact that for the time being at least, he was his own master. Y_ou're the one who decides when you're done, _Oon told himself_, and you have just decided that you will not have fully completed your search until just after you finish a spot of lunch._

His morning had taken him past any number of eateries; among them the fabled _Zaphrra_, with it's five stars and five figure bills, and the _Trandoshan Barbecue_ that boasted a branch on every Republic system. But whilst he knew that the Temple would not begrudge him a meal, he did not think he would be too popular if he had to explain exactly why he had treated himself to a full blown gourmet banquet.

Nestled between a beauty salon and the offices of the Novidia Broadcasting Corporation was an understated cantina. The door slid open at his approach sending Oon a greeting waft of warm spiced air.

A HoloNet show flickered along one wall of the narrow room and looking round he thought that this place was used by the people who worked in the Arcade rather than by those who typically shopped in it. That suited him just fine.

Oon slipped onto a stool at the counter and as he glanced at the menu laid his commlink beside it.

---

"Where have you been?" Chet Ama questioned as Palpatine returned to the Pit, "Clish has been raging through here like a Reek on heat."

"I'm sorry I missed that," Palpatine replied sitting at the desk opposite. His gaze was drawn immediately to the pile of datapads that spilled across the surface between them. He reached for the nearest one, skimming its contents as Ama spoke.

"It was a sight to behold," she continued, "Honestly, that man could do with a few manners."

"If he offends you, Ama, you can always request a transfer," Palpatine suggested in a most helpful tone.

"I'm only saying," she snapped, "If you would spend less time talking with that shaak eyed bimbo upstairs perhaps you'd be here and he could have a go at you instead. I'm fed up with having to parry criticism about _your_ mistakes."

_Go on_, he thought, not looking up, _elaborate on that!_

"Just listen to this dross," she complained, "We must dig in firm on the subject of the mining operations on our moons. Rich they might be but one must have a heart of stone not to see that stripping the natural resources undermines the very bedrock of our society."

Palpatine leaned back in his chair. "Another draft speech from our esteemed leader?" he asked.

She nodded. "He stretches and mangles the metaphor beyond recognition."

"And it bothers you because _that_ is _your_ field of expertise?"

"If that boy is considered wise," she said tightly, "I can only conclude that our entire electorate has been replaced by Gungans."

A casual toss sent the datapad skittering across the pitted surface of Palpatine's desk, "Weren't you passed over for entrance into the legislative youth programme in favour of his elder brother, Ama?" he smiled thinly over steepled fingers.

"_What_ has that got to do with it?"

"Nothing, I'm sure," his tone dismissive. "What did Clish want to know about..."

"Oh, hello, Callentis," Palpatine said, swivelling round in his chair, "half days now is it?"

Praela Callentis glanced at the chrono, "It seems to be for you," she replied, "Andras is in with Clish. The morning session is over, and there's something brewing." As she spoke crossed the room and clicked a datachip into the holoprojector.

"There's always something brewing – any specifics?"  
"Not yet. Was that _you_ I saw going into Pinnacle the other night?" she asked as oversized holographic figures filled the space between them. "I meant to ask, but as I've been stuck minuting the Cestus committee I've hardly been here."

"_You_ went to Pinnacle?" Ama snorted.

Palpatine nodded eyeing the projection.

"I though they had a restrictive door policy."

"It helps to know the right people," he murmured.

"Doormen?"

"I suspect that _someone_ is annoyed that her application was rejected," Callentis observed, "Frankly, I'd befriend an army of doormen to get into some of those places. Didn't think it was your scene, somehow."

"A friend insisted."

"The good looking one?"

"Don't even think about it, Ama," Palpatine said, "Do we know what's happening with the E.D.A.?"

Ama jabbed a finger at the datapads, "Help yourself. If you start now you might get all the statistics referenced in time for the vote," she smiled apparently enjoying her very small victory, "I'd offer to help but I'm up to my nose in spice mines."

"Interesting choice of words," Callentis remarked, "The financials are all yours, Palpatine – I'm tied to this blasted committee."

"I'll live," though his tone suggested otherwise. "What about Andras?"

Ama snorted, "Prince Smarming doesn't associate with the likes of us these days. I get a strange feeling that he'll be the next one out of here."

"Where to?"

"There's said to be an opening in Dima's department – it's a step up."

"Is there another direction?"

"Your confidence will be your downfall, Palpatine," Callentis said leaning against the edge of the desk, "Some people find that unsettling, you know – a little bit of self depreciation can be disarming. That said, Andras is the perfect example of taking that particular trait too far - I'll not be sorry to see him out of here."

"What about his replacement?" Ama asked.

"That remains to be seen, don't count your gundark's before they've hatched. We might be stuck with him for longer than you imagine."

"Fifteen standard months and already he's surpassed us all. I'm starting to feel like the maiden aunt of this room, she who is wheeled out on special occasions."

"Our Grande Dame. Quite the fixture." It was true, Callentis had been here when he arrived and Palpatine had quickly concluded that Clish found her much too valuable to allow her to be poached or promoted. In contrast with the recently arrived Ama who he considered a opportunistic fool, Palpatine had a lot of time for Callentis; she had an exceptional mind and viewed the challenges of life and politics with callous objectivity. Not long after they met it became apparent to Palpatine that his own not inconsiderable intellect was a shadow next to hers; he had assumed therefore that they would become rivals. Unlike he, Callentis saw allies in those she considered to be her intellectual peers, and consequently he had found himself in the position to learn a great deal from her frequent and dispassionate dissections of the human condition. "You have yourself said that he has a well developed gift for flattery. Saying the right things to the right people is one way to get on in the world. Another reason, so I hear, is that his uncle is an old school friend of the Reek."

"How do you know that?" Callentis asked.

"Common knowledge," was his less than truthful reply, "You know I'll be glad when this E.D.A. is dead."

"Really? You think it won't be passed?"

"Have you not noticed, Ama, how everyone who supports it in committee, where they are personally accountable seems to lose enthusiasm once it reaches session?"

"It might not be a bad thing if the senate were a little more open about their funding."

"Ama, you're a closet idealist!" Callentis laughed, "Well I never! Maybe we should broadcast this to Naboo – then if the king drops down dead they can make you queen."

"Just because you have no soul doesn't mean I have none."

"Someone stepped out of the wrong side of the speeder this morning," Palpatine muttered, "Don't worry, Ama. Give it a few more months and you'll be knee deep in cynicism and loving it, just like the rest of us."

"Quite," Callentis concurred. "The homeworld government can uphold any _ideals_ it wishes. As far as I'm concerned they can go on denying the fact that an elected monarchy is no more democratic than an hereditary one. They can go on believing that the Republic shares their ideals, that all the thousands of worlds within the Republic are equally committed to those principals of peace and equality. But I know what I see pass through this room. I can accept the facts. I open my eyes enough to see what this republic is about."

"That wasn't my point, Callentis," Ama protested, "It would do no harm if we knew more about who was working for whom, or at least who was being kept by whom."

"Even who was keeping us?"

"I think you're pushing it there, Palpatine," Callentis countered, "Clish might be a boor, our senate representation might be a group of ineffectual appointees chosen by an elected autocrat who has fewer braincells than cousins, but I don't think corruption would occur to any of them."

Palpatine exhaled, "I'm sure it wouldn't …"

"Then how come they can overlook our existence?" Ama asked.  
"What is there to overlook?" Palpatine asked, "We do not exist – take a look at your _official_ designation and your _official_ clearances, all else is off the record. We might be the only useful department in the entire planetary civil service but we do not exist. It has been this way for a long time – I don't expect it to change any time soon. The people are happy, the senate is happy and the head of state remains in blissful ignorance."

"And so it will continue," Callentis concluded, "to preserve those ideals of yours, Ama."

----

"… _supposedly being so. In consequence, as the vote to ratify the controversial Earnings Declaration Annex approaches, discomfort in the Senate has grown,"_ the flickering HoloNet Anchorbeing said in measured tones as a stock image of the exterior of the Senate Chambers mushroomed behind her. "_Though earlier this week, Hartal Inlia was named as an alleged supporter of the faction opposing the bill, the notoriously reclusive representative of Alderaan has remained unavailable for comment. Mindel, the Senator responsible for originating the E.D.A. was reported as saying …"_

Oon turned back to the counter just as the server-droid server brought him his order; a thick fish stew. Perfect.. He had no mind for politics at the best of times and right now his stomach was too much of a distraction for him to even pretend an interest. The morning's activities had added an edge to his hunger and it certainly made a change from the food served at the temple. It was not that there was anything wrong with the temple food, just that any kitchen providing enough food for so many mouths tended to lose imagination rather quickly. Having finished his first mouthful he savoured the flavours and was looking forward to the second when;

"What the…" from near the door.

Enduring the heat, Oon was on his feet and moving even as the debris from the blast clattered against, then shattered the window. Through the Force he was aware that the proprietor's hand was moving, slamming against the panel that would bring down the security shutters.

Oon's Lightsaber was in his hand as those shutters slammed down behind him, offering some protection to those who had remained inside.

Opposite, the tall silvered doors of _Octroi _stood open, twisted like some bizarre sculpture, exhibited, with artistic caprice, in a hall filled with thick grey smoke.

Oon ran toward the jewellers, fighting his way through the current of beings that moved against him. Clear of the wave, he ignited his blade just as the first masked figure emerged through the smoke.

"Jedi!" the man yelled. At the same time he aimed his Blaster and fired.

Oon's blade turned a swift blue arc, angled to deflect the bolt with ease, but even as it sheared to the left, Oon leapt back to escape the shower of shards that rained from a shattered shop front. Twisting a full and clumsy circle, Oon regained his feet. As his fingers felt the absence at his belt, he remembered that his commlink was safe behind the security shutters not far from his barely tasted lunch.

He was on his own.

Unfortunately, his masked _friend_ was not.

The Zabrak assessed his situation;

There were five of them and from their stance, Oon suspected that they wore battle armour beneath their soft, dark outer clothing.

One. Male. Human. Blaster drawn. Accurate shot.

Two. Female. Possibly human. Drawn vibroblade. Blaster.

Three and four. Hands encumbered, large bags. Build too massive to be human. Blasters.

Five. Species and gender, undetermined. Blaster drawn.

Oon drew his breath, his reconnaissance having taken a fractional-second.

He tightened his grip on his Lightsaber, and moved forward, welcoming the calm as the Force settled upon him.

Five, then One opened fire.

Oon swung his blade sending Blaster fire ricocheting across the arcade.

Two, Three and Four moved rapidly toward the edge of the arcade, away from the parking area. Oon considered this as he parried and then understood how they planned to make their escape. Dodging and repelling Blaster fire he moved toward the trio, hampered by the bypassers who were either too shocked or too foolish to understand their danger.

"Move away from here!" he ordered, voice amplified by the Force. "Get them away!" he yelled to the security guards who were emerging from the lower levels in response to the attack. "Now! They're going to…"

Two, armed and tossed a stun grenade, even as Oon's words were drowned by the gathering sigh of a structural breach. The grenade hit, leaving Oon, under the protection of the Force, the only one standing, the only one who heard the breach crack into silence.

And then, the sky fell in.

Guided by the Force, Oon's blade twisted to transform an expanse of transparisteel ceiling into abrasive dust, just as the modified air taxi plunged through the opening that it's front mounted Blaster cannon had created.

**Authors Note:**

Thanks to **UninvitedCat** who kindly beta read this chapter for me, and for you guys who have reviewed so far.

Feedback, positive or negative, is encouraged and appreciated. The more constructive, the better.


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